The Woman In the Mirror: (A Psychological Suspense Novel) (Alexandra Mallory Book 1)

by Cathryn Grant

  “Got a problem with the human body?” Tom said.

  “I don’t want to eat breakfast with your cock waving in my face,” Lisa said.

  Tom laughed. “But it’s so handsome.”

  Lisa turned to the stove.

  Tom marched across the kitchen, bent his knees, and rested his chin on her shoulder. “Aw, don’t be a prude.”

  “I’m not. Please get off me.”

  “Maybe you’ve never seen one before?”

  “Of course I have.”

  “I don’t believe that.” He straightened. He took her shoulders and turned her to face him. He put his hand on top of her head and bent it forward so she was staring down at his groin.

  She twisted to the side. “I’m trying to cook. Let go of me.” Instead of sounding angry, her voice trembled. It was quieter than normal and Tom recognized that fact.

  “Go easy,” Randy said.

  “Come on, Lisa. This is your chance. An ugly girl like you has never seen a guy like me. You and your sad little breasts and your over-sized ass. No wonder all you care about is studying, trying to be so smart. It’s all you have.” He tapped her nose. “A nose like Cyrano deBergerac, sniffing out misbehaving men.”

  Randy shoved out his chair, stood up, and walked around the table. “You’re going too far.”

  Tom smiled. “The truth hurts.”

  Lisa was crying. Her nose, which was large, but had a lot of character, was bright red, glossy with mucous collecting inside of it.

  “You are an ugly little girl, any way you look at it,” Tom said. “Go ahead and have a good cry. You deserve it. If you ever get a guy at all, he’ll be a short, fat, ugly dude. And you two will pop out short, fat, ugly kids and the cycle will go on forever! But you need to cool it with the brainy shit. No guy wants a smart ass girl. Leave the lawyering and the politics to men.” He strutted around the room, throwing his head back, chortling.

  I pushed back my chair, rushed at him, and smacked his face. Tom put his hand on his cheek. “Hey, you want to wind up with no place to stay?”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I said.

  I went to the stove. Lisa’s cheeks were covered with tears and her lips trembled violently. I put my arm around her, but said nothing. There’s really no comfort when cruel observations are hurled at someone. She owned a mirror.

  She pushed me away. The spoon fell on the floor, splattering waffle batter on my legs. She picked up the bowl, walked to the living room, and poured the batter on the carpet.

  “Clean that up,” Tom said.

  Lisa slopped her feet through the batter and continued across the living room, leaving gooey beige footprints on the blue carpet.

  “Get back here,” Tom said. “Clean up this shit.”

  Lisa headed toward the hallway.

  In three strides, Tom crossed the kitchen and was well into the living room. Lisa hurried around the coffee table, but she misjudged. Her shin banged the corner. She shrieked and lost her balance. She managed to keep herself from falling, but now Tom was on top of her. He grabbed her hair and twisted it until she screamed. Shoving his face close to hers, he stuck out his tongue and waggled it, brushing her lips. She turned her head, her face contorted.

  He took her wrists, and gripped both in one of his large hands. He twisted so he was looking over his shoulder at Randy and me. “You two get out of here.”

  “No way,” I said. I was on my knees, scooping gloppy puddles of batter with fistfuls of paper towels.

  “And leave that. She needs to clean it up.”

  I kept scooping.

  “I want you both out of here. This girl needs to be taught a lesson.”

  Randy edged his way toward Tom.

  “Get back,” Tom said.

  I got up, walked to Dianne’s bedroom, and pounded my fist on the door. Dianne’s phlegmy, half-sleeping voice called out, “What?”

  I opened the door. “We have a problem with your classy boyfriend.”

  Dianne shouted at me to get out of her room and stop bothering her.

  Randy shoved Tom into the armchair, extremely careful to avoid contact with the lower half of Tom’s body. “I said, you’re going too far.”

  Lisa stood up. “No. It’s okay. What he said is true. I’m not blind.” She laughed harshly. “Let’s not turn this into something violent.”

  “Why are you naked?”

  I turned at the sound of Dianne’s voice. She stood in her bedroom doorway. She went back into the room and returned with a pair of jeans. She walked over to Tom. “What’s going on, Babe?”

  Tom stood up, took the jeans, and yanked them on. “Tenant problems.”

  “We’re not your fucking tenants,” Randy said.

  Tom pushed his hair off his face, weaving his fingers through it, making him look a bit like a woman, fluffing up her hair, her last check in the mirror before returning to the dance floor of a club. “Poor pathetic valedictorian got her feelings hurt ‘cuz I told the truth about her chances in the romance arena.”

  “Not what happened,” I said.

  Dianne held up her index finger, keeping her attention on Tom. With her other hand, she yanked on the waistband of her boxer-style pajama pants that were inching down the sides of her hips. She laughed. “My mother accused me of picking an ugly girl to share my apartment so I’d look better in comparison.”

  Tom walked over and put his arm around her waist. He glanced at me, closed his eyes, and pulled her up close. “You’re drop dead no matter who you’re standing next to.” He folded his mouth over hers, their lips swallowed up by each other, her neck stretched back, turning white with the strain, her tendons working hard to give him a deep kiss while trying to close the height distance between them.

  While they tongued each other’s throats, I went to the couch and held out my hand to Lisa. She let me pull her up.

  As if he could feel Lisa’s movement behind him, Tom yanked his arm away from Dianne’s waist and pulled his face off hers. He lunged at me. He did some kind of move on my arm that made me cry out like an animal with her foot caught in the teeth of a trap. I collapsed on the couch. Tom grabbed Lisa’s upper arm, propelled her toward the door, scooped his keys out of the bowl on the narrow shelf beside the door, and went out. Lisa didn’t pull away or try to resist, tripping and stumbling alongside him as if he had every right in the world to drag her out of her home.

  “Stop him,” I said.

  Dianne looked at me. Her face was flushed, her eyes watering as if the depth of the kiss had moved her to tears. “Calm down.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “He’s very sensitive.”

  “Bullshit. Where’s he taking her?” I said.

  Dianne shrugged.

  “Well text him. Or go find them. Do something.”

  “Let them settle it.”

  “He treated her like a piece of shit. She was trying to make breakfast and he started waving his cock in her face.”

  Dianne laughed. “Really?”

  I grabbed my keys out of the bowl and threw open the door. My feet were bare and I was wearing running shorts and a tank top. It was cool outside, but not enough to make me go back for a sweatshirt. I ran down the stairs and across the small garden in front of our apartment. The grass was wet, forcing me into a slide as if I’d run onto a frozen pond. I glided to the edge and kept running. When I reached the carport, Tom’s car was gone. There was a puddle of vomit near the parking space he used. I turned away.

  16

  Aptos

  About fifteen minutes after I locked myself in my room to escape Noreen’s despair over her failure to gain entrance to Jared’s bed, I heard her door open and close. The wind had died to a soft breeze and the branch was no longer knocking.

  I brushed my hair, peeked in the too-low mirror, and rubbed brown pencil around the edges of my eyelashes to make my eyes deeper and darker. Gripping eyes, I’ve been told. Bewitching.

  I yanked off my tank top and jeans, put on a ba
llet-type black skirt and an off the shoulder black top. I bent over and ran my fingers through my hair, then straightened and flipped it back so it fanned out across my shoulders and fell over my collarbone in front. I pushed my bangs to the side.

  Carefully turning the doorknob, holding it tightly so it didn’t click, I opened the door a few inches. The tiny hallway where all of our rooms ran into each other was dark. I stepped out and closed my door, releasing the knob without making a sound.

  The danger of mixing business and sex obviously didn’t apply to me. I was just another renter living five or six steps away from a very good looking guy. At the same time, opening his door was potential housing suicide. This was nothing like the tangled roommate relationships I’d had with Randy and Dianne, although I didn’t pause to think how it was different. Maybe it wasn’t that different. If Noreen found out, I was dead. But there was something about white wine, followed quickly by a martini, alongside the frustration of sitting in the sun with a guy I was drawn to and doing nothing about it all afternoon, not to mention his very seductive way of getting my attention by keeping his identity a mystery, that had my body amped up. When I decide I want something, I’m not very good at remaining patient.

  I brushed my fingertips on Jared’s door and whispered, “It’s Alexandra.”

  Speaking was a risk. For all I knew, Noreen was pressed up against her door, believing with all her mad reasoning that I’d had drinks with him, waiting for me to show my true colors. It was equally possible she was curled up under her covers, crying and plotting her next move.

  Jared opened his door and I stepped inside.

  The lamp beside his bed was on, but it had a rather low wattage bulb which reflected off his orange and green bedspread, giving the room a warm glow. His dresser top was stripped bare of knickknacks. There was a small rug near the far corner of the room. In the center of the rug was a round, thick meditation pillow. In the opposite corner he had a narrow shoulder-high bookshelf filled to capacity, and on top of the case was an unlit dark green candle. There was indeed no mirror in the room. I thought about asking what was up with his vandalism in the bathroom, but there was time for that later. I wanted his body, not an explanation of his bizarre attempt to defang his vanity.

  I pulled off my shirt and he did the same.

  He put his arms around my waist and pulled me to him, every inch of our skin touching. I tried to remember how long it had been since I’d had sex. I couldn’t pinpoint the last time, meaning it had been far too long. He kissed me, long and deep. It felt as if his tongue reached to the center of me, stirring up a warm puddle that swam between my hips and legs. We kissed until I thought the ache inside was going to split me in two.

  Finally, he took my breasts in his hands, stroking them and rubbing my nipples, proving the earlier ache had been nothing.

  After that, we went fast. I yanked off my skirt and thong while he stripped off his jeans. Then, he lifted me in his arms and placed me on the bed. If this was what Buddhism did to a guy, made him treat a woman as if he was presenting her as an offering, it might be a philosophy worth looking into.

  When he moved on top of me and put himself inside, I stopped thinking. I came twice, maybe more. It all ran together in a series of swelling, crashing waves as I tried not to make a sound loud enough to hit Noreen’s vigilant ears.

  Exhausted and limp, we slipped under the covers. I propped myself up on my elbow. I absolutely could not fall asleep in his arms. I’m a sound sleeper and the likely outcome would be falling unconscious and sleeping until after Noreen was awake.

  We put our faces close to each other, noses touching.

  “You didn’t seem surprised to see me,” I whispered.

  He brushed his lips against mine as if he was speaking into my mouth. “I knew it was only a matter of time.”

  “You did not,” I said.

  “I hoped.”

  “That’s entirely different.”

  “I felt a connection.”

  “Funny, that’s what Noreen thinks about you.”

  “Can you get her to back off?” he said.

  “Already tried and failed.”

  He closed his eyes and flopped his head down on the pillow. Then he moved to make room for me to share. I shook my head and remained propped up.

  “Lie down,” he said, pulling gently on my neck.

  “If I fall asleep, I might not wake up.”

  “Ever?”

  I laughed, slightly above a whisper. He put his hand over my mouth. We looked at each other with laughter in our eyes.

  I sat up. “I need to go back to my room.”

  “Aww.” He put his hand on the back of my neck again and rubbed gently. He moved his fingers through my hair, slowly so they wouldn’t get caught in the tangles. “You are so beautiful.”

  I smiled. “Thank you. So are you.”

  He smiled and blushed slightly.

  I slid out from under the covers.

  “Please don’t,” he said.

  “I have to. She’ll kill me if she finds me in here.”

  “We should kill her.” He winked.

  I shivered. “That’s not very Buddhist. You almost sound serious.”

  “Of course I’m not, but she’s driving me insane.”

  “I thought that was the point of your practice.”

  “It’s certainly testing me. But if it doesn’t stop, I need to find a new place to live. I feel like a prisoner in my room, or that I can never come home.”

  “There must be a way to get the message through to her,” I said. “Although like I said, I’ve tried several times and it seems she can’t even hear me.”

  “Thanks for going to bat for me,” he said.

  “No problem. But it’s not working.”

  “So we kill her. Take the house for us.”

  I laughed. “When I was in college, we had a roommate that was gouging us on rent. We were stuck there because there was nothing available mid-year.”

  “The rent here is fair,” he said.

  “I know, but the point is, we ended up playing a game, two of my roommates and me, where we thought up ways to kill her. Just as a game, when we were getting stoned.”

  “Sounds fun.” He sat up. He sounded like he thought it might be more sick than fun. His mouth in the golden lamplight had taken on a shape of uncertainty. “I was kidding, you know.”

  Part of me wanted to mess with his head and play up our how-can-we-kill-Dianne game, but I didn’t want him to dismiss me as a sicko. I wanted an open door to return to his room when I felt the need. Many men are happy with that type of arrangement — a drop in partner for sex — but I wondered now whether Jared was formed from a different mold. The fact that he wanted me to stay and sleep suggested he thought we were going to transform into a couple. Nothing was further from reality.

  I crawled around on the floor picking up my clothes. “I can’t find my thong.”

  “Then you’ll have to stay.”

  I laughed softly. “Not happening. I have plenty more.” I pulled on my skirt and let my loose top fall over my head and arms. Everything was hanging slightly crooked from my body, but I only had a few steps back to privacy.

  As I bent over to kiss him, he put his arms around my back and forced my knees to bend, pulling my upper body on top of his. “Stay.”

  “Do you want her to kill us?”

  “No one is killing anyone,” he whispered. “This will show her she’s on a futile mission.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When she sees we’re together, she’ll accept reality.”

  “We aren’t together. Not in that way,” I said.

  “After what just happened between us? After blowing every nerve ending in my body? That was like a spiritual awakening.”

  If he thought this was the best sex ever, he’d had a somewhat limited experience. It was good, I felt very fine. He’d turned my body into putty, but I’d been pure desire, the deprivation of weeks, months w
ithout relief. An afternoon basking in the sun under the gaze of a nameless man.

  Buddhism had taken a back seat. He looked at me, his eyes full of a different kind of need, a little scared, maybe. Of course, who really knows what’s in anyone’s eyes. We imagine we’re seeing things, seeing what we want to see, or hope to see. When really, they’re just eyes. They aren’t saying a word.

  He sat up. “What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing, except I need to get back to my room.”

  “She’s asleep. Relax. And who cares if she sees you?”

  “I do. I’m not in a position to move again quite so soon.”

  “You can always find another place to live.”

  Maybe in his world. “Please let go of my hair,” I said.

  He released his hands from my hair. “I want you.”

  “Another time.”

  “When? Or I can come to your room. Or we can meet somewhere…”

  I did want him again. I also wanted the guy who talked to me for hours without telling me who he was. “I really need to go.” I stood up. I’d meant to kiss him, but bending back down again would prolong it. A quick clean good-bye is the best.

  17

  Tess asked whether I wanted to meet for drinks. She seemed to be searching for a connection beyond boss and employee, despite the land mines in a personal relationship with a subordinate. The situation wasn’t unlike Noreen and Jared, confusing a close business relationship with friendship, turning it into a hybrid where each aspect might stop functioning as it should. I suppose it’s lonely at the top, but it can be lonely in other places too — at the bottom and in the middle. All of life is lonely. You’re born alone, with no idea what’s waiting as you make your way into the unknown. You never remember, except in your dreams, what terrors confronted you in the first years of your life when there was no way to communicate except by screaming your head off. No one knew what you wanted to say with those screams — they simply guessed, made assumptions about physical needs, never considered what fears or desires you might want to express. Those terrors are lost forever in the back corners of our psyches. In the end, you die alone. Even if people surround the bed and hold your hand, you take that last breath and cross over to wherever you’re going all by yourself.